Rising Wrath

A young woman sets out to discover her lost past.

Well, my first job for the city of Riddleport is done now. The druid responsible for the murders and arsons (and it was indeed the druid) has been dealt with. It was a difficult fight. She seemed to have developed some kind of affinity for insects, especially cockroaches. There were swarms of normal cockroaches, cockroaches the size of dogs, cockroaches the size of horses… I’m just glad that she didn’t turn into a cockroach the size of a house. She had gone completely insane… I can’t help but feel a little sorry for her, even though she was doing her best to kill me and my friends and even though I was prepared to kill her myself. She had apparently been a very idealistic person once, but the indifference and casual cruelty of Riddleport must have worn her down and broken her. I’d have liked to get a chance to ask her what specifically had happened to drive her to such an end, but I didn’t get the chance. I broke her staff, thinking it would help end the battle, and it did… though not at all the way I’d planned it to end. Breaking the staff resulted in the druid’s very sudden and violent death, a subject I will not go into in print, for I would like to think about it as little as possible. Suffice to say she is very, very dead. All of us came through alive, though much the worse for wear, especially Saerana.

The evening did have a pleasant ending though. It turns out that that gendarme, Jasper, had followed us out when he heard that we were going to the Boneyard that very night, and he assured us that he would see to it we were paid for our work. There was some good natured joking. Jasper said he wasn’t sure if I was crazy or serious about “this whole doing good thing,” Kyle said he thought I was crazy, and Lyssa said I was awesome. After that, Jasper took his leave, Saerana insisted we loot what was left of the druid, and we made our way back to the Mystery of the Gate, where the three of us (Kyle left after we got there) spent several hours soaking in hot baths, eating some roast beef that Zeke had been hiding in the larder, drinking good ale and cider, laughing, splashing each other, telling stories, and having a good time. All three of us wanted to forget the details of our time in the Boneyard as much as possible. I invited Kyle to join us, but he blushed and declined.

I seem to have a regular talent for getting myself into trouble. I might also be crazy, or at least that’s what people I don’t know who see me doing what is normal for me think. Considering that this place is a hardscrabble town where helping people makes you an easy mark in the eyes of most of the residents, if what I do makes me crazy, then I am perfectly happy to continue in my madness, and frankly prefer it to what passes for sanity among the denizens of Riddleport. That being said, however, I will admit that my habits really do put me in awkward situations.

After the business with the mine, Lyssa woke me up fairly early to go out shopping. I had promised to let her pick something out for me, since I had come to Riddleport with only the clothes on my back, and my current outfit was getting rather ripe. Lyssa also thought it was exceedingly plain. Perhaps it is, but it suits my purpose, and it is very convenient for reasons that shall become clear later. In any event, she picked out, and bought — I didn’t expect that, but she insisted on paying for it — a very nice suit of clothes that were definitely in “the Riddleport style.”

It makes me look like a pirate. Lyssa wholeheartedly approved, and while it’s not exactly my style, I will admit that it is rather comfortable and I wear it well, even if I say so myself, and even if it’s not really me.

As we were walking back, we spotted a fire coming from the docks, and ran over to see what was the matter. The local tannery was burning. An ineffectual effort was being made to form a bucket brigade, and no one seemed to know if there was anyone still inside the building. I decided to go and check myself, then remembered what I was wearing, and missed by dirty old work clothes and my plate armor. There was nothing for it though, so I bought a man’s cloak, wrapped it around myself, and went to open the door.

The handle felt warm, so I tried to break it down. The door wouldn’t budge, and I noticed that not even the hinges were moving; the entire door seemed to have been welded to the surrounding walls, if it were possible to weld wood. Lyssa, who had been questioning my sanity but was good natured enough to go along with my recklessness, said she’d organize the bucket brigade and start breaking the door open with an axe, while I went in through a window.

It was very smoky inside the place. It took me a while to find the tanner, but find him I did, and managed to drag him out. Soon a cleric came, and there was nothing that could be done for him. It was hard for me to take that, but it was some consolation to know that he was dead before I had even showed up on the scene. At this point a gendarme showed up — one of Riddleport’s local constabulary — and I spoke up and mentioned that bit of weirdness with the wood and the possibility that this might not have been an accident. He told me he’d want to question me later, so I gave him my name and address.

After that, I took a walk with Lyssa to steady my nerves. We stopped by the tailor’s to get my clothes clean — despite my best efforts, they had gotten sooty. Then we walked out to the cliffs surrounding town, and took in the view. The Cypher Gate is definitely an impressive piece of architecture, although there’s something about the runes on it that catch at what feels like an old memory, and there’s something off about them. I can read Thassilonian as well as I can speak it, but while those runes looked to be Thassilonian, they didn’t make any sense; it’s like they were gobbledygook, or like someone wrote down a lot of things that looked like Thassilonian runes without actually knowing what they meant or how to form a proper word. While we were there, Lyssa also told me that the fire at the tanner’s was the seventh in a month, and that all of them had happened around the docks.

After a while we went back to the Mystery of the Gate. While I was on shift, that gendarme came back and asked me to come with him. He led me back to their barracks. I’m not sure if it’s big city police forces that I don’t like, or just the Riddleport police force, but that building was sinister. The whole thing became even more sinister as I was led downstairs into their dungeons. I couldn’t help but wonder what he could possibly have to show me down here, and I had the sickening thought that perhaps I was about to be thrown in prison for a crime I didn’t commit, that the local police were just looking for someone to pin the crime on to clear it off their books.

My imagination brought up something more terrifying still when he showed me inside a room. A large man wearing an apron and a mask and holding knives in his hands was standing next to a body lying on a slab that had been cut open like a fish. Then I noticed that the man on the slab was the tanner I had pulled out of the burning building, and I realized what I was looking at.

I’d heard of autopsies before, but I’d never seen one in person. We didn’t have the facilities for such things back in Sandpoint. The gendarme, a man named Jasper, explained that this was the first case where they’d gotten a body from one of these arson cases intact; in all the others, everything had burned, obliterating any evidence within. After examining him, they had concluded that he had been severely beaten shortly before his death, and that he had been suffocated, but not by smoke. Then the coroner took a pair of tongs, reached into the dead man’s throat, and pulled out a cockroach the size of my fist.

At this point, it was taking me a great deal of effort to not throw up, or run screaming from the room, or to do both of those at once.

To make a long story short, with the new evidence they had found and my testimony, they believed the culprit to be a druid who had previously been stirring up some trouble in the city. She was regarded by the people of Riddleport as crazy, and had been agitating against the pollution that the city has been dumping for years into the river and bay. I have to admit that on one level I sympathize with her; I suppose you can’t expect a river next to a settlement to be perfectly clean, but Riddleport has taken things to a level that I would have thought unimaginable, and I cannot imagine how the people here tolerate it. That river is so polluted that it’s dangerous to even swim in it, let alone drink from it, and apparently catching three-eyed fish is not an uncommon occurrence. Still, if she is responsible, I can’t agree with her killing people, especially when she’s not even getting at the root of the problem. Sure, the tanner and others on the waterfront had been dumping their sewage into the river, but that’s been going on for ages, and killing a few ordinary merchants isn’t going to help matters; if she really wanted to restore the river, she’d have to burn the whole city to the ground, and I’m honestly not sure why that thought never occurred to her, but even for as crummy as Riddleport can be sometimes, I’m glad she hasn’t.

Although, I’m not even entirely sure that she is responsible. The gendarmes seem to think so, but they seem almost too certain of it. They commissioned me to hunt her down, since she’s hiding in the Boneyard (a swamp outside of town filled with the wrecks of old ships), and they made it clear that while I could bring her in dead or alive, they would prefer dead, and that they hoped the matter would not come to trial. While I agree that it seems likely that this druid is responsible, “likely” isn’t good enough… or at least it isn’t good enough for me. I might have taken the commission to catch her, but I’ll do it my way.

I went back to the inn feeling very unnerved by the day’s events, particularly by my experiences with the RIddleport gendarmes, thinking that there are drawbacks to always jumping in to help people. I told Lyssa and Zeke about all of this. Zeke and Lyssa laughed and agreed that I bring this on myself, but he was good natured about it. Lyssa agreed to talk to Saerana about this as well, and to see if she could track Kyle down again. The four of us worked well together the last time, and hopefully we’ll be able to do so again.

It’s been an eventful couple of days. It seems that I’ll have to stay in Riddleport for at least a couple of days, on account of the Cypher Lodge being mysteriously in a state of lockdown. No one seems to have any idea why the Cypher Mages aren’t seeing anyone, and they weren’t willing to tell me, so the long and short of it is that I’m stuck for the time being.

It certainly hasn’t been dull, though. I’ve managed to meet a lot of people during my stay here. On my way out of the Cypher Lodge I met a Cypher Mage named Claudia who seems a nice sort, and who hopefully I’ll be able to meet again, once they finally open their doors. Then there was Saerana, a half elf girl who runs an antique shop and who is absurdly fond of chocolate. Lyssa often buys it for her, especially when she wants a favor. Up until now she seems to have only eaten milk chocolate; I bought her some dark chocolate, and after she ate it, she disappeared into the back room for a minute. Lyssa said she thought she heard a squeal of joy. We went to see her to see if she could help where the Cypher Mages had been unable to. She thought I was there to sell my ranseur, and though I was not willing to do so, she was able to tell me a bit about it: that it was late Thassilonian, that it was of excellent make, and that I apparently have sweaty palms.

Since I’ll be staying here, I’ve had to take a job. As a result, I’m back to my old gig of being a bouncer for a part time job, just like with Ameiko. Now I’m working for Zeke, the fellow who runs The Mystery of the Gate. He’s a great guy and makes delicious pancakes that, oddly, manage to go well with the beer he serves at breakfast. Lyssa suggested I get a job fighting in Riddleport’s gladiatorial arena, but that’s not quite my style. I enjoy a good sparring match as much as anyone, and probably more than a lot of people, but fighting for money is a little different, especially when it’s distinctly possible that someone is going to end up dead. I might be good at fighting, but I can’t say I enjoy killing people.

A few interesting occurrences came up lately. One was when I helped Zeke avoid a riot in his taproom. Lyssa had been getting drunk, like she usually does (how she’s so chipper in the morning is beyond me, it’s like she stores the booze in her breasts), and got up onto a table and started dancing. Truly, I have never seen anyone move her hips quite like that girl. She was attracting quite a bit of attention, and that was before she started taking her clothes off. Once that happened, she got a real crowd around her table, with more than a few of them looking like they wanted to engage in some “horizontal recreation.” Of course, for all that she likes the attention men give her when she acts that way, Lyssa never seems to want any of the logical conclusion. This worries Zeke for two reasons. First of all, despite being rough around the edges (very rough, sometimes), Lyssa is a sweet girl and it would be a terrible thing if something bad happened to her. Second, and perhaps more importantly, Lyssa is the owner of a flintlock firearm. If that gun of hers doesn’t kill whoever she fires it at, it would at the very least ruin their day. Normally, of course, the gun is enough of a deterrent of unwanted attention, but it loses its impact when its owner is shaking her ass, taking her clothes off, and dancing on a table and the people it was meant to deter are a few sheets to the wind. Zeke took a two pronged approach to defusing this. The first thing he did was send me out to let the corner girls know that there were a lot of potential customers in The Mystery of the Gate, and that Zeke was willing to let them come over and ply their wares. The second part, to get all the drunks away from Lyssa, Zeke took care of himself: a cry of “next round’s on the house!” did the trick. After that things calmed down considerably, although Lyssa did get groped during the rush for free beer, and took offense. How on earth someone who gyrates her hips like that can be bothered by someone grabbing her ass is something of a mystery to me; Zeke figures she just doesn’t know what she wants when it comes to certain things.

Shortly after that, I got a job that paid a fair bit more than bouncing. It turned out that a local mine had some kind of monster show up while the miners were digging a new shaft, and its presence had brought work to a standstill. We were hired by the mine’s owner, Lars Brigget, to get rid of the thing. Lyssa helped out, as did Saerana, and I was much surprised to see Kyle again; Lyssa had enlisted him to help with our job of monster hunting. The fight was brief but intense; it turned out that the thing was a rock troll… or was it cave troll? Either way, it was a troll, and it had rocks and crystals growing all over its skin. It was pretty tough, but we managed to make fairly short work of it. I was very glad to have everyone there. It turns out that Saerana is a spellcaster of some kind, and all three of them were handy in a fight. Lars was very grateful; he paid us 500 gold pieces for the job. I was pretty happy with a job well done, but the money was definitely nice as well, since most of us got a little banged up in the doing of it.

This promises to be an interesting stay in Riddleport. Lyssa really was right, the place has character. It sure isn’t Sandpoint, and I wouldn’t want to live my life here, but it’s a better place than a lot of people give it credit for.

Pickpockets, Poker, and Punches

It has been an eventful day. After a fairly peaceful journey since taking leave of the last remains of the bandits who wanted to rob and kill us, Kyle and I arrived at the outskirts of Riddleport. He told me that he had business of his own, and that we would probably part ways here, but that if I was going to be in town a few days, I might see him about. I’m glad that he decided to keep traveling with me after what happened, and we parted as friends. I really do hope that he lets Amethyst down gently though.

I had planned my first stop to be the Cypher Lodge on the recommendation of Brodert Quink, since they were a group that he’d had correspondence with in the past and who know a lot about ancient Thassilon. Since it was late in the day already, though, I decided to find lodgings first. Kyle recommended “The Mystery of the Gate,” and warned me to watch my back, since Riddleport is a rough town.

His warning was prophetic, since when I got to the inn after winding my way through a street full of down at the mouth people, overly cheery vendors, and a cabbage vendor who I helped after her cart got toppled over, I found that someone had picked my pocket. Mercifully, they only took my gold pieces. Since I still had plenty of silvers and coppers though, I went in to the inn anyway to get dinner, a drink, and a room.

After a while, I was spotted by a curvaceous, dark-haired young woman named Lyssa who had been arguing with some men. She hurried over to me and asked me to help her, saying that they were playing poker and wouldn’t let her play, accusing her of cheating. I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into, but she seemed like a good person, and I needed a bit of fun and a friendly face. When I told her that I couldn’t help her since I had just been pickpocketed, she told me not to say that since I’d look like an easy mark, and agreed to stake me a pile of money in exchange for “ten percent of the takings.”

The game, it turned out, was pretty serious. I won a couple rounds, folded one, and went all in on another which Lyssa won. I was now out of the game, but one of the other players insisted I deal, since he still thought Lyssa was cheating. I dealt one hand, and Lyssa lost. I dealt another, and Lyssa wound up winning, winning a huge pile of money and taking everything the man who challenged her of cheating had.

Predictably, things went pear-shaped after that.

The man she’d just bankrupted lunged across the table to try and strangle Lyssa. Lyssa leaned back in her chair and kicked the table into the man’s gut. The man’s friend, who was sitting right next to me, got up and tried to punch me, and missed. Lyssa, whose smile never wavered, said to me “Care to help out, love?” I obliged, considering that these people were trying to knock me out too. The whole thing escalated into an all out brawl when Lyssa threw a bottle over the first man and hit someone else in the back of the head, shouting “FIGHT!”

Apparently this sort of thing is a common occurrence at the Mystery of the Gate since everybody got into it and the bards kept right on playing. I stuck to my fists for a while, knocking out a couple, until some drunken jackass decided to hit me with brass knuckles. At that point, I decided to escalate it a bit by using the blunt end of my ranseur as a quarterstaff and leaped onto a table to get the high ground. By this point my blood had gotten flowing and I was getting into the spirit of it, shouting “WHO’S NEXT?!” I rounded out the evening by knocking out the guy who started the fight in the first place after he had shanked someone with a shiv. I’d noticed him and his shiv before; he’d gotten a mad look in his eye and looked like he wanted to murder someone and didn’t much care who it was. As much as I had felt sorry for him for losing his money and losing a tooth when his head met the table, I was perfectly happy to knock him out and keep him from killing somebody.

The fight broke up shortly after that when the innkeeper got up on the bar banging a cast iron skillet, and threatened to not serve any more beer to anyone who kept fighting. That shut everyone up. The whole company set in to cleaning the place up, and the gendarmes were summoned to cart off the serious offenders. Apparently tavern brawls aren’t a problem, but bringing brass knuckles or shivs into them is.

The innkeeper, a man named Zeke, seemed very happy with me, and when I offered to help clean up, he thanked me for helping get the fight under control and working to not get any blood on his floor, and gave me free beer for the rest of the night. Lyssa showed up again shortly after that, and gave me my cut: 200 gold pieces. Not bad for an evenings work, even if it felt kind of odd. Still, she seems like a decent sort, and we wound up spending the evening drinking and talking. I wound up carrying her up to my room since I didn’t know where her lodgings were and she was pretty well gone at that point. She woke up again just before I went to sleep, not remembering who she was, and pointed a pistol in my face. Then she remembered who I was and laughed it off and passed out again.

Life around this girl will not be boring. I just hope she doesn’t shoot me when she wakes up tomorrow. She also offered a possible explanation for all the weird things that have been happening: I am actually a Cypher Mage apprentice who was exploring the Old Light, took a falling rock to the head, and woke up with memory loss. I spoke Thassilonian because Cypher Mage’s learn Thassilonian, and it was what I had been thinking in and thinking about at the time of I went unconscious. The dreams and visions and the creepy voice in my head are all hallucinations brought on from brain trauma and stress from recent events. As for why I was naked… well, perhaps I was a recreational nudist, or perhaps I was unconscious for a while and was robbed of everything I had down to my clothes. It doesn’t quite explain the statue, although perhaps that’s just a coincidence. It’s not so unbelievable to think that someone from ten thousand years ago might have had a face very like mine. Certainly Lyssa’s explanation sounds plausible, and a lot more comforting than the alternatives. But enough of that. The matter will be settled tomorrow. She will probably be right, and someone will recognize me as that crazy Ali girl who never minded losing at strip poker.

It is very late now, so I’ll leave off here. I’ve got a big day tomorrow.

Things are getting more and more disturbing. It was weird coming into an ancient Thassilonian ruin and finding a statue that was a perfect likeness of me, except dressed as a wizard and with an expression that can best be summed up as “homicidal.” But then the dreams started, and they’re getting worse. But even dreams was nothing compared to what happened today.

I’ve been traveling with that paladin that Amethyst was looking for, the one who she thought was her boyfriend and who seems to view himself as a ladies man. I’m going to have to bug him to let her down gently and not break her heart, she really is too sweet a girl for that and doesn’t deserve to be led on by a womanizer… but I digress. We were traveling, and got waylaid by bandits. I am sorry to say that we were completely overwhelmed. I rather miss Hope and our companions… they made for good (if occasionally aggravating company), and there was always a sense that we could depend on each other and that we could work our way out of most situations we encountered.

That, it appears, is no longer true. We were tied up and taken to their hideout, a camp in the middle of the forest. There were no prospects for rescue, and the prospects for escape were dim. Fortunately, the bandits decided to have a party, and I managed to persuade a particularly drunken one to untie me so he could sleep with me. Everything was going well, up until the point that one of them noticed that their comrade had gone into the bushes and hadn’t come out. My attempt at throwing my voice to sound like a drunken bandit was not successful.

They told me to come out, and I didn’t have much choice. They were going to kill me anyway the next day, but they decided to do it then and there instead. I felt anger, and fear… anger that these scummy bandits were about to kill me and my traveling companion, that we had allowed ourselves to be caught, that I could not even have the pleasure of selling my life dearly and dying with a weapon in my hand… and fear that I would never find out who I was, that I would never see Hope again, that I would never listen to Sheriff Hemlock bark orders at me again, that I would never get to drink another mug of cider or ale in the Rusty Dragon, never get to listen to Ameiko’s stories of her adventuring days or her music nights where she’d pull out her shamisen and play all night long, never get to listen to Shalelu’s stories of her own adventures, of goblin hunts and travels far and wide… I couldn’t stand that. I knew I was about to die, and that I could do nothing about it.

And then the voice came.

I blacked out and found myself standing in darkness. From somewhere around me, a voice called out, but I couldn’t tell exactly where it came from, nor could I see who spoke. The voice was horrifying… it sounded a little like me, but yet not me, or perhaps me if I’d been born an arrogant, nasty bitch. Her voice was foul and evil-sounding, full of mockery and disdain for me. She asked me if I wanted to live or die. I said I wanted to live, but not if it meant giving up my soul to whatever this thing was. And that’s when she finally appeared… it was like looking into a mirror, except with my face twisted into a sneer, my eyes full of rage and hatred and madness and a lust for blood and battle. She reached out and grasped my head, pulling herself closer so her face was right in front of mine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she said, “this one’s for free.”

And then I blacked out for real, and knew no more.

When I came back to myself, it was to a sight that looked like a painting of hell. The entire camp had been obliterated in what looked like a massive fireball. Everything was flattened; the nearby trees were on fire; there weren’t even the screams of dying men, because they were all dead already. The smell of their burning flesh, on the other hand, was definitely still around. Curiously, my companion was completely unharmed, even though he should have been right in the path of the fireball. I could only stand there in a kind of daze, looking at the destruction that I was apparently responsible for.

I was jolted back to reality by a scream. The drunken bandit who had wanted to have his way with me must have woken up just in time to see me apparently unleash fiery death on his companions, or at least soon enough to see the aftermath, and realize that he wanted to get away from me as quickly as possible. He took off running in the opposite direction. There seemed little point in chasing him; enough people had died for one night, and I thought that after what he’d seen, perhaps he’d be scared straight.

I know practically nothing about my own past, nor this thing with my voice and my face that is lurking about in my head. All I know about her is that I don’t like her one bit. She might have saved my life, but I don’t imagine there was any kindness involved, only self-interest. Perhaps, since she has taken up residence in my head, if I die then so does she, or at the very least she would be inconvenienced by my death. I don’t even know what this thing is, but I know enough to be wary and suspicious of it.

I wish Hope were here. It would be nice to have someone to confide in, someone who I could tell these things to and who wouldn’t look at me like I was crazy… well all right, Hope might look at me like I was crazy, or make one of her snarky, deadpan comments, but she wouldn’t run off screaming. She would probably have something useful to say, or at the very least she would just be there to listen, and then to say something funny to lighten the mood once I’d finished. Like it or not though, Hope isn’t here right now, and I’m not sure she’d still be in Sandpoint even if I turned around right now and went back.

No, I must press on… though when I find out about my past, I wonder if I am going to like the answer. There is some other me, or at least something that has borrowed my face lurking around in my head… and I really hope that when this is over, that that thing isn’t in charge.

Ali's adventures in brief prior to being waylaid by bandits

Prior to all of this, Ali had been living as an ordinary girl. Her origins are anything but ordinary, though. She only has memories going back to five years ago, on the night that is now known as the start of the Late Unpleasantness. She woke up full of fear and rage. She doesn’t remember much of that night, just that she was running like the hounds of hell were after her. According to Brodert Quink, who was the first to see her, she ran stark naked out of the Old Light screaming and raving in a language that he realized was Ancient Thassilonian. She was eventually calmed down, but little attention could be given to her at the time due to a string of bizarre and vicious murders, and later the burning of the old church and the death of the town priest and his daughter.

Ali eventually learned Taldan, and turned out to be a naive, friendly, cheery, and athletic sort of girl. She joined the town guard and worked as a bouncer at the Rusty Dragon in exchange for room and board. She became friends with the Sheriff’s daughter, Hope Hemlock. Life went on peacefully for some years, until the events of the Swallowtail festival led to her becoming involved in hunting down a horde of goblins and dealing with yet another serial killer. Throughout all of this, she has been increasingly troubled by thoughts of her mysterious past. Her party discovered a statue that looked almost exactly like her in an ancient Thassilonian ruin underneath Sandpoint, and she began having strange and prophetic dreams.

Eventually she decided that she needed to find out about her past, and took her leave from her friends, hoping to rejoin them once she had figured out this problem that had been troubling her.

She made her way first to Windsong Abbey, where she received a Harrow reading from a cleric of Pharasma that was exceedingly peculiar (all the cards were blank except one, the Empty Throne). As she left the Abbey, she happened upon a paladin named Kyle (who had been the “boyfriend” an apprentice cleric of Pharasma she had befriended named Amethyst), and they decided to travel together until they got to Riddleport.

They stopped in the town of Galduria to visit the Twilight Academy, a small mage’s school. She hoped to find some information about her past here, but there was nothing to be found.

On the road to Wolf’s Ear, they were beset by bandits. That is where the story picks up.

A blog for your campaign

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.